Hold your breath make a wish count to three
by saradelovely
Summary: when i catch my breath, it's you i breathe.


There is a series of houses, a series of checkerboard houses several miles deep from the highway. The houses are identical in size and measurements, the lawns perfectly manicured. The scenery is perfect but not all things are quite as they appear. Nothing is ever what it appears to the visible eye.

Finn and Quinn were made to be corresponding jigsaw pieces of the same puzzle, fitting easily into the slots they were assigned to. There's nothing to try for because even if they haven't reached the pinnacle of perfection, it's only because they haven't had enough time.

It is easy to find the strand of connection between them, the cords that tie around the truth. The surface tells the story of a hurricane never meant to last; Rachel and Puck are the remnants of a disaster scene, the outliers in the puzzle box. Rachel herself has never been the epitome of sparkles and radiance, but that's more the fault of those around her than her own. Miserable, she thinks. They treat her miserably and all she has ever wanted has been a friend to bridge the silence with. Though, truth be told, can pinpoint the root of their anger at her. She was always too abrasive as a child, loud and she enjoyed structure and rules, much to the dismay and disapproval of her peers. And Puck, well. There's something to be said for getting the girlfriend of your best friend pregnant, now isn't there?

There is something to be said for love songs, 99 percent of stories begin with the scenario of a boy and a girl. After that, the percentage drops when people realize that you could love someone and you _can't_ be with them; there are a multiple of reasons pulling them apart. You could love someone to the bottom of your soul and sometimes, love isn't enough. Then, then there's time. There's a certain plateau for falling for someone, levels that have to be reached within acceptable time periods and if the relationship is an outlier on the scale, people are dismissive.

People are liars, you can fall in love with someone in a matter of days, falling in love with them because of the curve of their smile or the emeralds in their eyes; the way their calloused palms fit seamlessly into yours. You can fall in love with the movement of their mouth, the way the words accentuate off the tip of their tongue. You can fall so deeply in love with someone that you may not even know it, not even after they leave.

Her arms are thrown around his neck after he finishes the song, his laughter vibrates against her skin, a bright and shiny smile circling the corners. His laughter is a sound she's memorized from the moment she heard it, the notes escaping his mouth curling down to her toes with warmth. She has learned to play it back from memory, much like everything else. She kisses Puck because it's easy, it's easily done as breathing, the short bursts of air escaping from her larynx. She kisses him because her lungs tighten when his teeth nip at hers; it's as if he breathes with her in unison, each kiss coming as _here, be my ventilator._

She never stops to question why she needs a heart to beat in unison with hers. There is something to be said for happiness, for the feeling of floating above air when he kisses her.

He brushes an eyelash off the inside edge of her eye, sticking his thumb out to her with an arch of his eyebrow.

_hold your breath and count to three,_ he whispers to her, _make a wish._

She holds her breath and she blows, she blows a wish to the heavens and thinks nothing of it when he leans in to kiss her a moment later. He kisses her as if they'll have the rest of their lives, each kiss less important than the last. She doesn't think to memorize the way his tongue moves across her teeth, the texture underneath his lips. She thinks there will be chances, chances to do this again.

(She'll learn the taste of good-bye, a two for one deal)

When there's nothing left to share, he'll share the heaviest secret of them all, a heavy heart tied to an explanation neither of them needs. There is a ribbon tied around his thoughts but she doesn't understand the significance of the present; it's an out. Her voice collapses quicker than a deck of cards when he gives her his words; he gives her his words while taking hers. They don't speak afterwards, despite her firm but hidden resolve of friendship. They don't speak but feelings remain the same; there are things that never change.

Bridges are safe and sturdy, but she'll always wonder why the one underneath them collapsed.

(A collapse as heavy as her lung; she now feels the shortness of breath wherever she goes. It was four days; how does one stop breathing after four days? Is this how you know that you belong to someone? When you unconsciously tie your heart strings to theirs without a single syllable uttered? )

She'll laugh mirthlessly, a quiet laugh that feels like she's heaving air; she doesn't know why she has to wonder when she already knows.

Standing next to Quinn, Rachel always feels inadequate, always a shiny feeling that doesn't lessen over time. Quinn is beautiful, the kind of beauty of hollywood glamour featured on magazines and art. Now, Quinn has _both _boys by a cord she can pluck and Rachel can't stop shaking her head at the sorrow of it all.

(Why can't_ I _be _enough_?)

But then things happen, and secrets don't stay hidden for long. The truth will always rise to the surface, falling like a tidal wave over the participants.

It is all over the school, the truth snaking across the lockers, consuming its residents. There are whispers. _Sometimes the prettiest people do the ugliest things._

Finn breaks up with Quinn when he learns the news, when he learns the difference in paternity and how quickly friendship can be betrayed. It's a surprise to no one, it's a surprise it took this long. There is no fighting, he does not come after Puck to settle scores and to inflict further damage. He just ends it, quietly but completely; a pair of scissors cutting the thread of connection between him and Quinn.

"Well, well. The golden couple has fallen." Puck whispers in Quinn's ear the next afternoon, feeling her body tense.

"No thanks to you." She replies, slamming her book closed and walking away before he can catch a glimpse of her watery frown. She places the crown of blame on Puck's head and ignores the fine print; it takes _two _to make a child. Still, the tinest particle believed that Finn would stay with her, even after there was living proof of her deceit. She had false assumptions, as per usual. She thought Finn would wait longer than two hours before asking out Rachel but Quinn was wrong, and she's not exactly in a position to lecture him on right and wrong.

Then, the tables will turn; Rachel has everything she's wanted; the high school popularity, the quarterback boyfriend, _everybody wants to be her._

(Isn't this what she wanted? She feels like a stranger outside of her life, watching as the body waves and smiles and the inside clamors for something more. Why does the real thing feel differently than she imagined?)

Finn slings an arm over her shoulders with a kiss on the side of her forehead, and both sides smiles in spite of herself; it's a high school fairy tale, even if the protagonist is bleeding at the seams. The ventricles of her heart have sprouted a leak, a small cut barely visible. She's bleeding out to death slowly, bright spots of redness falling through her skin.

_Do you remember when you took my heart and forgot to give it back?_

She wonders why she was born with a glass heart, the fissures showing easily; like cracks in cement. There is a correlation between time and wounds; time heals all wounds, but there's no limit to time. She doesn't mind, love is a battlefield. Her cells are made of stars, bright Technicolor stars indicative of her potential, how special she can become. She can be with Finn, she can have a fairy tale. Teenagers are always guilty of treating their high school love as their last; that's what Rachel finds herself doing when she holds onto the relationship with both hands but the relationship doesn't grow; a relationship can't grow without a heart and an extra set of lungs to breathe. She thinks about this sometimes, she wouldn't share her heart with Finn nor would she give Finn a kidney and what kind of relationship is this if he can't have her kidney? This isn't over dramatic, you have to think of these things when you become involved.

(There is a corner of her heart reserved for someone else)

It takes two months after Quinn gives birth for Finn to realize the cord he cut in the beginning tied itself back together, and for him to do what Rachel had expected all along. He begins it with a speech; Finn has learned expressions. She stops him after he says it's not you; she doesn't need to hear the rest to know the ending will stay the same.

"I'm a big girl, Finn. I don't need you to placate me, to give me the speech."

Her eyes are weary as she walks away, the blurriness taking hold. There are ghosts in the air.

Puck finds her on the bleachers, her elbows on the seats behind her, her expression frowning when she sees him jog up the steps to sit next to her. They've played a game of strategy all these months, the only move _avoid avoid avoid_. She's still frowning when his words break the silence between them.

"You and Finn, eh? Over."

She brings her arms to cover herself, the air is still chilled around her and she can't help but reflect to the last time she sat on these seats; the time he told her about his role in the pregnancy and she broke up with him; we could be friends at the tip of her tongue.

"Maybe I don't want to be a footnote in somebody else's love story."

She'll say finally; what else is there to say?

"Yeah, you tell yourself that."

"I don't understand."

She should have said: I don't want to understand.

"Of course not."

"Where is this hostility coming from?"

"Took you fucking long enough to sense it, Berry."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've gotten sick of waiting for you and Finn to end. Almost thought you wouldn't, which would have been a shame."

"Why? Because I was happy? Why are you so against my happiness? We're over, remember? The day I broke up with you on the bleachers because of related things, things of importance."

"No, because I had a bet running, and I wasn't in the mood to lose a small fortune just because you and Hudson kept at it, which also means, now I can collect. I'm the one closest to the break up date."

"You _cretin_. You had a bet running on my relationship?"

He shrugs. "I don't see the big deal, I would have split my winnings with you."

"God, Noah. How could you be so insensitive?"

"It's Puck, and thanks; I'll be here all week. Feel free to leave extra."

He can't believe it when the sound of laughter fills the empty thread around him, the echoes of her vocal chords sprout across the benches. He was expecting some form of verbal bitching, least of all laughter.

"How much did you win?"

He ponders thoughtfully. "About three hundred, give or take a twenty."

Her mouth forms a soft o, evidently surprised people cared that much.

"I'm in the mood for Italian."

"What?"

She throws her hands in the air, exasperated.

"Italian. Like pasta and carbohydrates."

"I care why?"

She smiles sweetly and stands, the wind blowing gently against the hem of her skirt. She stares out into the horizon before she looks back at him, his expression unreadable as his eyes search her face.

"You promised to split your winnings. Let's go collect the funds you accumulated due to my heartbreak and get dinner."

He shakes his head. _Unbelievable._

She arrives to school in his car with him the next morning, stepping out to grab his hand. The rumors spread like wildfire. She pays no attention to them, she's heard the worst of them before but she never pegged him to pay attention to these type of things.

He corners her before she has a chance to walk into rehearsal, his hands in his pockets.

"People are talking."

She shrugs, indifferently under the scrutiny of his eyes.

"People are always talking, Noah. You've just never paid attention."

"Does it bother you?"

She tilts her head to the side, biting her lip for a beat before she speaks.

"Should it?"

That's the last they speak of the rumors following them.

It doesn't happen for a while, not until the feelings inside her are ready to implode. She holds them close to her chest for as long as she can but then they escape her lips, and she feels her heart taken root.

_I love you, I love you, _she chants in fervent prayer, a mantra of words for a feeling that explodes above them, like glitter in the sky. His heart beats against her ribs in unison, choking and breathing at the same time. The same explosion echoes back inside her body when his hands find their way onto hers. Her mouth breathes him in, he's the closest she has to oxygen; her hands curl into his hair, she clings to him as though he's her shore, _she burns like a bridge for his body_.

She falls asleep with her eyes open, his hand on her heart, thumb circling over the pulse. Later, when they'll begin a second round, his mouth finds the corners of her breast, and it's almost as if he's breathing life into her body. He digs his hand into the shape of her back muscles, his palm imprinting onto her skin.

_If you had your heart back, what would it do? If I sewed your stitches, would you be as good as new?_

"Tell me about the future you want." He says to her quietly one night, as they lay in bed underneath the mess of pillows, their legs tangled among rumpled sheets. His hand is buried into the crook of her neck, the place between where bones reside. His hands touch the spots of her body instinctively, touching as if he could heal the snapped bones.

_i want you, _her mouth moves to say._ i want you in the middle of my dreams, the star of my life; you put the color inside of my world; i've pictured you underneath a beautiful sky, singing me a song; tell me you love me, tell me this future isn't out of reach._

She doesn't say a word, there is no verbal tirade to launch into. She curls her body into his, the missing jigsaw piece she's been missing all along and hopes he can understand the words reaching below the silence. She begins to hum softly, the twinge of contentment possessing her voice. _this, _she thinks, t_his is what i want._

(He has always been able to read the subtext underneath her skin and he can feel her cascading through him when he traces a star at the bottom of her back; _the tramp stamp_, she giggles)

They don't talk about the future after that, there's magic to be found in the present. The first of which comes in the cafeteria, where he persuades her to have sex in a public vicinity, _oh my god anyone could see. _He convinces her it's research for a future role and she launches into one of her speeches until he's tapping his foot impatiently and she realizes there's no better time than the present. He becomes permanent to her, a scar burned across her skin.

She graduates with honors, valedictorian of their class, bound for Julliard to follow those dreams she's always had while he stays behind, his future bound to a community college several miles from home. He drives her to the airport, his fingers tapping nervously against the wheel. He stares straight ahead, his thoughts lost in the direction they're taking. She's quiet, her silence speaking volumes; when did her silence become her speech?

He stands with her at checkpoint, his hand holding hers and if she was a better actress, she would suffocate her tears.

"Miss me? You're going to miss me, right? You're not just going to forget about me, are you? Miss me?"

Her eyes dart everywhere but at him; her tiny pupils dancing in an arc, and he places his hand to her heart and leans his lips against her forehead. She closes her eyes for the words to sink into her slowly, and she's always loved this the best; the quiet moments that get them through the days.

"Always."

He says this instinctively, without a second thought.

_you're my soul mate, i love you._

"It's just distance between us, just the miles. It is just miles and space, and we can overcome space. I've made flow charts and pie graphs, and there's Skype and facebook, and I love you."

He tilts his head to the side, waiting for her to continue. She chokes back a sob, a sob without the tears.

"It's just distance, nothing will change because you're still the bane of my existence; I can't live with half a heart."

She kisses him, squeezing his hand for one more time. She sewed her heart on his wrist the night before, a tattoo of black and blue. She says bye and he says bye, and she hopes their hearts don't break from the byes, and walks away; she doesn't turn around to see him turn his head.

He doesn't watch her walk away, holding his breath as she leaves him first.

_Do you remember how it feels to leave?_

New York loves her, a tangible fact by the way the stage calls her name. Her nights are busy with people who want to spend time with her but it's not enough to fill the solitude of the leftover nights. There's adoration twinged in the voices of the crowd, and they love her, but it's not enough to get past the lonely nights without her other half. She has her dreams but she's still consumed by loneliness, a feeling that often trumps her feelings for the stage. What's the point of dreams if they come alone? She sighs, but she carries on; dreams are important, this is what she's waited for all her life. There's webcams and phone calls to replace presence; sexting and sadness fighting back love, sadness coating their distance most of all.

Days turn to weeks, month flips to years; there is sadness to geography and they're bridging it, one day at a time. She has friends and he has his rise through school, and it all means something but everybody knows; some things mean a little more when there's someone there.

But he comes back to her, the way she's always known he would; it's perfect living with her high school sweetheart, and they're both happy, and she never hesitates to brag _my boyfriend's a doctor _and _he's better than yours_ to the girls around her. A girl has to have some bragging rights.

The first morning she wakes up with him she has to pinch herself to ensure this isn't one of her many dreams. She kisses him awake, the taste of _good morning, sunshine_ floating across her lips. She'll pull the curtains open and watch the sunlight beam into the apartment, and everything glows. People change and people grow into separate lifestyles but she's been fortunate enough that separation hasn't come into their play.

Sometimes, he catches her by the window, practicing ballet movements as she stares towards the skyline, and he leans on the edge of the door; standing, watching. She never sees his focused gaze on her while she's unaware, she'd be apt to call him a stalker, a voyeur with that tone of hers, the one makes him laugh every time it comes out. Thousands of people have seen her a year and she still gets stage fright when Noah looks at her.

She buys him a Cat and he buys her expensive underwear, not a fair exchange if you were to ask. She goes on break from Broadway, she needs to relax and practice the role of the doting girlfriend, a role she already excels at beautifully.

She thinks everything is perfect until he buys her a home by the beach.

She runs through the sand her hair flying behind her, her laughter echoing across a soft melody with her footsteps. He watches on amused as she does cartwheels underneath the warmth of the day, scaring off the birds flocking by the edge of the water, smirking as her feet take her back into his arms.

"You bought me a house. Quite domestic of you, Noah."

"Hell yeah, baby. I purchased us a house."

She smiles, her eyes radiant with tears. His fingers move to wipe away the strays that fall, the water balmy underneath his thumb. The sun pales against them and he's unsurprised when her legs find their way around his waist, her hand brushing through his hair.

"You purchased us a house. I don't think I can top this one, just like you couldn't top the Cat. I mean, _really_, Noah. A live animal trumps sexy underwear every time and no, that's not a euphemism."

He continues staring, amused at the blush twinging her cheeks. There is a sun catching fire behind them, red enough to match. The sky is bleeding out but she doesn't think it matters, her stitches healed long ago.

_Home is where the heart is, and you've always been my fucking heart; even while i was yours._

"I love you, you know?"

He says the words suddenly, the words meaning more than they normally they do, more than they normally could.

"I know."

She doesn't know what else to add; saying it back in that moment sounds too trite, and she doesn't want to cheapen the moment. How could she explain it's not about the i love yous but about how easily she understands the vowels between his spaces?

"I love you." He whispers into the hollow of her collarbone, the words reverberating against her flesh.

_i love you for which a name doesn't exist, the space between the seconds i counted while we were apart._

"And they said we couldn't make it to the finish line."

Her thumb traces his cheek and she leans in to kiss him, a meeting they've done so many times before, meetings she thought they would never have again.

His smirk doesn't falter, the corners of his mouth do not fall. "The house is _not_ the finish line, Berry. Honestly, now, how little you think of me."

He puts a hand to his heart in mock anger but his eyes sparkle with excitement and promise.

She looks up at him confused, question marks peeking through her eyelids. "What else is there?"

Pause. She mentally flips through her checklist. Graduation. Julliard. Broadway. Awards. Noah. Everything else, house included, has been a bonus; the cherry on top.

"We still have to get you down that aisle."

He drops her, astounded expression and all; his feet falling right after to his knees. He's learned her the way he learned how to have a good time in the olden days, the shape of her body as familiar to him as the empty vodka bottles were.

"Marry me?"

Her laugh falls around his ears and he can't feel a thing; her tiny arms are strangling him around his neck, _yes yes yes always a yes._

When she was younger, she thought that love would be fairy tales and poetry but she was wrong; love is never meant for pretty words and songs of romance. It's moments in the sunlight reflecting through the windows, his green eyes gazing intently at hers as she crawls onto his lap to kiss him, her fingers interlocked behind his head. His body curves into hers naturally and the first taste of him still always manages to catch her by surprise.

(There is a picture of them on her bedroom wall, rusting from the memories between them, proof they have a future together; they have a future. Every night she looks at it prior to falling asleep and smiles, a smile big enough to light the nighttime sky. She buries her head in his skin soon after, it feels like coming home; _hey,_ he whispers onto the crown of her head, _i missed you_.)

AN: That isn't how this was supposed to end! I gave this story the ending I wanted for Heartbreak Warfare, so many many chapters later. Oy. Anyway, this is my last one shot for a while, I'm trying to get my thoughts together to finish 'Boys.' Though, I have so many ideas for one shots, so many angsty bitter shots! I need help. True story. I listened to 'Baby' by Justin Bieber on repeat while writing this. I love that song.


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